


The Greediest Colour

by Ereana



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26531683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ereana/pseuds/Ereana
Summary: In a world where everyone looks forward to meeting their 'fated' other half Atsumu would rather choose for himself. Sorry to whoever his soulmate is, but he's never been very good at doing what he's told. He'd be perfectly happy to never meet them.Then Hinata Shouyou walks into his shop.Atsuhina Exchange gift for erza_mikazuki.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 23
Kudos: 259
Collections: AtsuHina Exchange





	The Greediest Colour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [erza_mikazuki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erza_mikazuki/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy your gift! I decided to go with the soulmate + tattoo/florist AU request. It was a lot of fun to work on.

Atsumu has a problem.

Not a small problem either, a big ‘ _ this-is-going-to-have-serious-consequences _ ’ problem. Despite what ‘Samu thinks, he can differentiate between the two.

It’s not a problem he’s dealt with before. It’s not the snobby lady in the ill-fitting dress glaring at him while tapping her watch, telling him that she can’t wait another 30 minutes for her arrangement, and she needs it now,  even though it took her about an hour to decide what she wanted and insisted on seeing nearly every type of flower in the shop.

It’s not the man who has clearly forgotten an important anniversary asking for something ‘ _ super classy, but only use flowers that look expensive but aren’t _ .’ He really hopes whoever the dude’s partner is comes to their senses soon and briefly considers writing his own note with ‘ _ DUMP HIM _ ’ on it and hiding it between the stems. He resists; it uses up most of his considerable willpower — especially after the same guy books a table to a restaurant Atsumu knows is shit — but he does.

It’s not even the fact that Valentine’s day is approaching, and if he has to make another rose bouquet for another doe-eyed, simpering teenager, he is going to gouge out his eyes with a spoon.

No, it’s the woman in front of him. She’s in her late twenties, and holding up a photo of what is presumably her and her friends in very nice, formal dresses. She’s standing to the left of a short, brown-haired woman in a floor-length wedding gown — ‘ _ oh she’s been looking forward to this for so long _ ’ — who Atsumu has recently learned is her best friend, and about to get married to the love of her life in two months. The problem? She’s asked Atsumu to make sure the flower’s don't clash with the dresses.

Because she can’t see colours.

But her friend can. 

And Atsumu can.

Now to be fair, this is more of a side effect of the main problem. But it’s still peripherally linked, so Atsumu feels well within his rights to be annoyed. He hmms and nods and makes all the appropriate appreciative noises, as Makoto goes through her entire collection of pre-wedding photos. It’s killing him inside, but it's his own fault for pursuing a career that involved customer service.

If he had his way, he’d never leave the workshop at the back, and Yachi-chan would be on the counter full-time. Except Yachi is an angel too good for this world and he wouldn’t do that to her, no matter how big the vein in his head was getting. 

Makoto finally puts her phone away and smiles at him. 

“Thank you for all your help Miya-san. You’re so lucky!” she sighs and Atsumu braces himself for what he knows is coming, “I can’t wait to meet mine someday. How did you—”

“I’m sorry Makoto-san, but I think I hear the phone ringing,” false sincerity drips from his voice, “and I’d hate to keep ya any longer than necessary. I’ll contact ya when the flowers are ready, okay? Have a nice day.”

She looks startled at the abrupt dismissal but nods, thanks him again, and leaves.

The rest of the shop is quiet, so Atsumu feels no guilt whatsoever in slipping into the back room and screaming into his hands.

“Ummm, are you okay Atsumu-san?” Yachi’s quiet voice somehow gets through the muffled screaming, and he raises his head to see her in front of him, her kind face wrinkled with concern.

He’s a monster.

“I’m fine Yachi-chan, customers bein’ annoying is all.”

“Oh. I-I mean if you need a break I can go out front for a bit.”

Yachi. On the front counter. Alone. With one week until Valentine's day?

Over his dead body.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I can handle it. How’s that funeral order goin’?” He casts an eye over the tables littered with stems, ribbon, and petals. “Need any help with it?”

Yachi shakes her head. “No, sir! I’ve got it all under control. This is my first solo order, and it’s going to be perfect.” She clenches her hands with determination. It’s adorable, like a baby squirrel trying to look tough.

“With you workin’ on it? I have no doubt.” Yachi’s eye for colour and design is fantastic. Taking her on as a permanent hire had been one of the best decisions he’d ever made. She blushes at his praise and starts to stammer a rebuttal, but he won’t hear a word of it and returns to his hell with a cheery wave.

He’d probably have to think about renaming the shop soon. ‘ _ The Lone Arranger _ ’ wasn’t accurate anymore.

The main part of the shop is well-lit, and he spends a moment looking around. Reds, yellows, blues, purples, greens, a rainbow of colour not just from the flowers, but the shelves and walls, and the uniform Atsumu is wearing.

He can see them all.

It’s beautiful.

It’s a problem.

It’s  _ the  _ problem.

Because the only way a person can see in colour is if they’ve met their soulmate. Up to that point the world is black and white: a world, he now understands, that was incredibly dull and flat.

Atsumu had never wanted to meet his soulmate. Some instinctive part of his being rebelled at the thought of being tied to someone forever from the moment he was born. Why should fate get to decide who he would fall in love with?

He’d never been very good at doing what he was told.

His friends and family all rolled their eyes at him, said he would feel different once he actually met them, that he would give in to what destiny had chosen for him.

Atsumu didn’t want that.

He wanted to fall in love on his own terms, with someone he chose and who chose him in return.

Okay so he was a little romantic, everyone who worked as a florist was — it was practically an essential skill. 

So he’d prepared a speech, a declaration if he was feeling really dramatic, that he’d deliver to his soulmate, informing them in their very first meeting that

No, he didn’t want a relationship with them.

No, he wasn’t going to change his mind.

And yes, he was deadly serious, don’t let the door hit them on the way out. 

Over the years, he had felt a stab of guilt now and then for his foretold other half, who likely had no idea what was going to happen when they met, but hey that was fate’s fault not his. He’d been ready, unflinching with an iron resolve, to wave goodbye to his soulmate as just another stranger who briefly flitted through his life.

Then it happened.

He’d met his soulmate.

A brilliant, young tattooist who’d started working at the nearby studio, right across the street from Atsumu’s own shop, named Hinata Shouyou.

Hinata Shouyou, who he’d met four months ago and was now somebody Atsumu could quite confidently call his friend.

Hinata Shouyou, the problem.

Hinata Shouyou, who had completely flipped the script for how their first encounter was supposed to end. He’d walked into the shop on his second day at his job, spent a good 15 minutes ooh-ing and aah-ing at the flowers, and then looked across at Atsumu at the counter. 

Atsumu had been watching him since he entered, intrigued by the impressive markings on his left arm, and the honest way he seemed to enjoy studying the flowers. He’d looked at them carefully, unlike most of Atsumu’s customers, and was genuinely delighted with everything that was on display.

He was cute too. A little shorter than guys Atsumu usually went for, but his shoulders were broad and his eyes flashed with something  _ interesting _ . So maybe he’d been staring a little harder than he’d thought — it had been a not-insignificant time since his last relationship and he’d wanted to indulge in the newest eye candy — because Hinata’s shoulders had tensed, and he’d turned around. His gaze went straight to Atsumu’s face, their eyes locked.

A split second.

That was all it took for Atsusmu’s world to change irrevocably.

He’d later learn that the first colour he ever saw was brown.

The second was orange.

Bright, vivid, and warm.

He wrenched his eyes away from the stunned man in front of him, and as a consequence, he saw the colours of his flowers for the very first time.

Beautiful.

He didn’t know what any of them were called, but it didn’t matter. His shop was alive. It took his breath away.

“You!” A pair of hands slapped down on the counter. Atsumu jolted back, how did he get there so quickly? Wasn’t he stunned by everything that he _they_ could now see? “You’re my soulmate! I can’t believe it. I’ve wanted to meet you for so long.”

Wait.

Shit.

The plan.

He’d panicked, but luckily his rigorous training didn’t fail him, and he’d haltingly made his way through the well-practiced speech.

“Look I’m sure yer a nice guy but—”

Hinata hadn’t looked away from him once.

“—and when ya think about it, fate decidin’ the person yer meant ta be with is stupid—”

He remained silent through the entirety of Atsumu’s word vomit.

“—and I’m sorry, but I want ta choose someone for myself, and I want them ta choose me—”

The smile never left his face.

“—so yeah, that’s where I stand.” He’d finished a little weakly. He’d expected to be interrupted or an argument after he got the first sentence out. It hadn’t happened. Instead, Hinata held out his hand.

“Okay then. I’m Hinata Shouyou. Nice to meet you.”

What?

“Huh?” Atsumu’s brain stalled. In all his imagining about how his unfortunate soulmate would react, this was a scenario he hadn’t considered.

Hinata smiled at him, how was it possible to look fondly at a stranger? “I said okay, you don’t want a romantic relationship. But we can still be friends, right?”

“I-I guess?”

“Do I get to know your name now, soulmate-san?”  _ Damn him. _ Atsumu had blushed and dropped his stare.

“I’m Miya Atsumu, and this is my shop,” he’d said, trying to distract himself by wondering what the colour of his pen was called.

Blue, he’d learn it was blue.

“Ah, Miya-san then,” Hinata returned his eyes to the flowers, somewhat relieving Atsumu from the intensity of his attention, “you have a lovely shop. It’s incredible.” He breathed out the last word.

Atsumu followed his gaze to a vase full of sunflowers. His chest tightened, and a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth.

“Yeah, I really do.”

He’d spent that weekend painstakingly memorising the name of every colour he could. Osamu had offered to help — smug git had been able to see in colour since he’d met Aran back in middle school  — but Atsumu didn’t doubt for a second that his brother would use the opportunity to screw him over somehow, probably make him think that yellow was green or some shit like that.

Green was lime, watermelon, jade, the colour of leaves and plants.

Yellow was lemon, sunflowers, butter, the colour of the sun.

He loved them all.

Hinata did too.

Every week, without fail, he’d enter the shop with his sketchpad and pencils, seat himself by the counter, and draw. Atsumu watched with awe as art flowed from his soulmate’s hand. Flowers, spirals, fancy knots, wings, there was seemingly no end to the designs. Some were small, almost doodle-like, while others took up entire pages. 

Hinata wasn’t silent all the time, oh no. He loved to talk about his job, his family, his friends. He was an easy guy to like, and despite Atusmu’s initial hesitancy to know his soulmate as more than a stranger, he found himself looking forward to the chirpy “Hello, Atsumu-san,” as Hinata came through the door.

Osamu had once asked why Atsumu had gone into a job that involved dealing with the general public when he hated people. That wasn’t true — and just another example of how the theory that Osamu was the nicer twin was a pile of dog shit — Atsumu didn’t hate people, he just struggled to get on with them. He had little patience for scrubs, and four years working at the counter hadn’t changed his opinion. Hinata was different, he seemed to actually like Atsumu and enjoy his company which was new. 

It was nice: to feel like he wasn’t being put up with as a courtesy.

Atsumu learnt that Bokuto had offered Hinata a place at his studio, he’d accepted it after returning from a two year trip round the world. He had known Bokuto since high school, even called him his mentor, and had been thrilled at the opportunity.

“I mean, he’s one of the best artists I’ve ever met. Have you seen any of his work, he did the wings on my back, you know?”

Yes.

The tattoos.

Hinata had shown him one night as he’d been closing up, tugged his shirt off without a trace of embarrassment, and turned to show a bright red Atsumu his back.

Atsumu’s mind had snapped out of its downward spiral of ‘ _ god-fuck-he’s-actually-taking-his-shirt-off-what-is-he-doing-I-need-an-adult _ ’ when he’d seen the full expanse of Hinata’s  gorgeous back and the intricate lines inked into his skin.

Wings. A pair of black wings nearly covering the entirety of his back. 

They were stunning and so realistic Atsumu thought for a moment they were about to unfold and Hinata would fly away. The detail on each individual feather was incredible. Before he’d even known what was happening Atsumu had reached out a hand, he’d stopped inches away from Hinata’s skin, but by his friend’s sudden inhale he knew that the motion had been noticed.

“It’s okay, Atsumu-san, you can touch if you want to,” Hinata had said in a shaky voice. The usual confidence missing for once.

Atsumu should have pulled his hand back and apologised. Should have asked about the tattoos on his arm and tried to break the tense atmosphere.

He hadn’t. He’d pressed his palm against Hinata’s back, tried to ignore the shiver it elicited, and ran his fingers over some of the details. Hinata’s skin was soft and warm. 

The low light of evening made it feel secret, safe.

“They’re beautiful, Shouyou-kun.”

_ You’re beautiful. _

That was the start of his problem. 

Because after four months of knowing Hinata — four months of casual after-work dinners, bright laughter, warm smiles, the scratch of the pencil against a notepad — Atsumu wasn’t sure if he could be satisfied with just friends after all.

Hinata was so special, so unexpected, and so kind that Atsumu knew he was taking advantage of him. He never said no to any of Atsumu’s plans to hang out, was always happy to help Atsumu lock up the shop at the end of the day, and didn’t care that Atsumu was a little prickly with his other friends. 

Sue him, okay, he’d left the shop one day to the unwelcome sight of Hinata hugging a tall, black haired man with a wide, elated grin on his face, and Atsumu had instantly decided he disliked the stranger. He’d gone over, customer service smile pasted on his fight, and not so discreetly got between the two. For some reason the man, who he later learned was one Kageyama Tobio, had looked faintly amused at this. 

Hinata never seemed to tire of Atsumu’s company. At times, Atsumu could almost kid himself into thinking that Hinata liked being with him just as much. His visits had become the highlight of Atsumu’s day, even if his very presence was extremely bad for Atsumu’s heart.

Atsumu had spent his life resisting the idea of liking his soulmate only to fall for him later on.

And he’d fallen hard.

It was ridiculous. It was stupid. It made him want to scream into his pillow. It had made him make a very ill-judged call to Osamu, where he’d been forced to hear his brother’s annoying laughter until Aran had snatched the phone from him and told Atsumu to talk to Hinata about it.

Yeah, right. Talk to Hinata? What kind of idiotic advice was that?

He’d told Hinata that he didn’t want that kind of relationship before he even knew his name. He’d probably done the smart thing, and found someone else to care about instead. It would have been easy for him as well. Atsumu had yet to meet someone who didn’t like Hinata. 

Aone — the silent founder of a small building company down the street who hadn’t said a word in Atsumu’s presence before — would go on walks with him around the town, Atsumu had caught them feeding ducks together once. 

Kenma — now Atsumu wasn’t exactly sure what the reclusive man did, but it involved computers and a very shady looking guy in a suit — had actually come out of his home/office to go for lunch with him. 

Even Sakusa — Atsumu’s best friend, though neither of them were sure exactly how that happened — was charmed by Hinata’s diligent, hardworking attitude, and Atsumu had overheard the pair discussing Hinata’s time in Europe over drinks one evening.

Sakusa had the same level of sympathy for his plight as Osamu did and had hung up mid-way through Atsumu’s whining about the back incident.

“You are an idiot, Miya. Whatever is rattling in your skull, it certainly isn’t a brain.” 

He needed to rethink that friendship.

Anyway, back to the problem.

He groans and drops his head into his hands, an image that would evoke pity from even the hardest heart, and barely hears the chiming of the door as it opens. 

“Afternoon, Atsumu-san.” His head shoots up. Sure enough, there he is, Hinata Shouyou: tattooist, shop neighbour, embodiment of the sun and all that was good in the world, and Atsumu’s soulmate. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

“M’fine, had a few annoyin’ customers is all,”  _ it’s not completely a lie _ , “How’s yer day been Shouyou-kun?”

“It’s been great so far.” Hinata walks over to his usual spot, and Atsumu tries to push down the thrill of being so close to him. “And now that I’m here with you, it’s gotten even better.”

Stupid smile.

Stupid heart.

Stupid brain for even entertaining the idea that Hinata might actually be flirting with him.

He smiles at him though — he always does — and returns to the order book. As per usual for this time of year, it’s completely full.

“You guys busy then? I hope you're not running Yachi-san into the ground.”

“Like I’d do that to her. Ya have so little faith in me. Shouyou-kun, I’m hurt.” He flips the pages to a particularly long entry, and starts to scan the details — looks like an extravagant proposal. “And yeah, we’re real busy this time of year, Valentine’s day and all that.”

Hinata chuckles and leans over the counter, “Don’t I know it. We’ve had so many customers come in for romantic tattoos lately, it’s unreal. If I ever have to draw another heart, it’ll be too soon.” He sounds despondent, and this time Atsumu is the one to grin. He rests his arms on the counter and adopts a disappointed expression.

“Now, now Shouyou-kun, that’s not in the spirit of things now, is it. Surely, ya should be happy for all these people expressing their love for one another.”

“And you are?”

Atsumu snorts, “Hell no, I went numb to the whole thing years ago. One too many rose bouquets and panicked complaints that I couldn’t whip up a world-class arrangement in ten minutes.”

“Not a fan of roses then?” Hinata was playing with his pencil, it was a tick of his that Atsumu knew meant he was nervous. Maybe his day hadn’t been as good as he’d said?

“Ya kiddin’? I mean it’s a nice flower and all, but everyone gets them. It’s so cliche. Also, if they’re meant to be a symbol of love, why are ya gettin’ them for a first date? Pretty strong message if ya ask me.”

“So if you went on a date with someone and they came with a bouquet of roses — ”

“I’d run out of that place as fast as my legs could carry me, yes.” Hinata laughs and moves around the counter until he’s standing right by Atsumu’s side. The sudden loss of the physical barrier drains some of Atsumu’s confidence, and he gulps at the lack of distance between them. The heady feeling of being this close to Hinata is doing nightmares on his ability to think clearly.

“You’d prefer sunflowers right? They’re your favourite, after all.” Atsumu blinks, surprised.

“Uh, yeah they are,” he forces his eyes to a selection of said flowers on the other side of the shop, “always like the shape and smell, and now I know they’re my favourite colour too.”

Shit! Why did he mention colour?

“Yellow?” Well, if he’s being stupid.

“No, brown,” he turns his head to look at Hinata, “the middle of a sunflower is brown.”

Hinata cocks his head to the side and looks at him. His eyes stare at him with an intensity that makes him shiver.

Hinata needs to stop looking at him like that — like Atsumu is some rare, special thing that he has to keep in sight otherwise it'll disappear. 

“Why brown?”

Because it was the first colour he saw. Because it was the first one he learnt the name of. Because brown was warm, and brilliant, and increasingly felt like home.

The colour of soil, which nurtured and fed the flowers he loves so much. The colour of chocolate, sweet and heady stuff that tasted of luxury. 

The colour of Hinata’s eyes.

“Dunno,” he lies, “a lot of reasons. What’s yers?” Distract. Deflect. Do anything to prevent Hinata realising why brown was his favourite.

“Black.”

“Yer kiddin’, that’s not a colour!”

“Yes it is! I use it for work just as much as I use the others, a lot more actually.”

“Ya finally get to see the world in colour, and ya choose black? The one everyone can see already? Yer weird, Shouyou-kun.”

Hinata is pouting, and Atsumu would feel worse if it wasn’t so adorable. “I’m not weird for liking black.”

“Sure.”

“I like it because it’s the greediest colour, reminds me of me.” Hinata’s voice comes out muffled as he’s buried his head in his arms, and Atsumu has to strain to catch the words. Not that they make any sense anyway.

“Whaddya mean?”

“Well,” Hinata is blushing, soft and pink, and it’s the most wonderful, terrible thing Atsumu has ever seen, “in high school I had this really great teacher, Takeda-sensei, he encouraged me to follow my heart and pursue an artsy career, even though I couldn’t see colours. I wouldn’t be here without him. Anyway I don’t remember how it came up, but he said that black was the result of all the other colours blending together. It won against them all — the bright ones and the dull ones — black could take them all in and still take more. It always struck me how greedy that was, how selfish to take in all the beautiful colours of the world and not let them go. I liked that it was such a strong colour, but I always knew it was greedy too.”

Atsumu is stunned, taken aback by the thought behind Hinata’s answer. One thing niggles at his mind though.

“So why does it remind ya of yerself then?” he asks. Hinata is no more selfish than any other guy Atusmu knows. He’s actually pretty kind and extremely generous with his time. Maybe he means his drawings? The desire to improve more and more, for the simple reason to prove to himself that he could? 

“Because I’m greedy too.” Atsumu isn’t imagining it. Hinata is moving closer. His voice has dropped to a low, quiet tone, as if he’s trying to approach a scared animal on the edge of bolting. Atsumu’s feet may as well be glued to the ground with how little he wants to move from where he is. 

Hinata raises a hand between them. It hovers in the air, uncertain, before he reaches up to cup Atsumu’s jaw. Atsumu inhales sharply at the featherlight touch against his skin. His heart is beating a mile a minute.

What is happening?

“I see this beautiful, brilliant man in front of me, and all I want is to keep him for myself,” Hinata huffs. “I can’t think of anything more selfish, Atsumu-san.”

“S-Shouyou-kun…” Atsumu’s voice sounds like he’s been chewing on sandpaper. His own hands hang uselessly by his sides, and he can barely hear Hinata’s voice over the relentless thump of his own heartbeat. Hinata’s voice, which has never sounded more unsure.

“Would you let me keep you?”

This is real.

Atsumu chokes on his words and takes a second to close his eyes. He thinks over everything that has happened between them since that first glance four months ago. Every smile, every brush of hands, every secret, stolen look that he kept close to his chest.

He opens his eyes.

Hinata is looking up at him — expression half desperate, half hopeful — and Atsumu wonders if it’s possible for people to feel so much joy. Forcing his hand into movement, he reaches forward and stroked Hinata’s cheek.

“Only if I get to keep ya too.” The words hand in the air between them for a second that stretches into years. Atsumu sees when their meaning registers with Hinata, because his eyes widen and he smiles. He smiles like Atsumu has just given him the world instead of a shaky, vague confession.

It’s not clear which one of them leans in first, but they’re kissing, and Atsumu never wants to stop. Hinata’s lips are warm and a little chapped, he tastes like apple, and Atsumu is never going to be able to eat one again without thinking of this moment. 

They kiss until they need to split apart to breathe. A short, gasping breath is all that’s allowed before Atsumu pulls Hinata back to him. There’s a fire raging under his skin, the spark from the night Hinata showed him his wings a pale comparison to the interno he feels now.

Hinata tears himself away only to gasp as Atsumu moves to his neck, placing open mouthed kisses against warm skin, and relishing in the feel of Hinata’s pulse jumping under his ministrations.

“Wanted this—wanted  _ you  _ for so long. God, it nearly killed me when you ran your hands over my tattoo that night.”

Atsumu’s head is pulled back to Hinata’s eager mouth, a small, talented hand running through his hair and tugging in a way that sends jolts of electricity through his nerves. Atsumu groans against Hinata’s mouth, and this time he’s the one to pull back. His mouth feels swollen, and he’s panting like he’s run a marathon instead of participating in a poorly timed make out session in his shop.

“H-have you been flirting with me this whole time then?”

Hinata smirks slowly. The smugness radiating off it should piss him off, but all it does is make him want to kiss the man again and wipe it away.

“Eh, only for the last two months or so. Had to make sure we were friends first.” Atsumu notices with some glee that he sounds just as breathless as Atsumu does.

“Why?” Why did he bother after everything Atsumu had said at their first meeting? 

Hinata shrugs and pulls him forward. Those gorgeous brown eyes stare straight into his soul. Right before Hinata kisses him, he whispers the words against Atsumu’s mouth.

“You said you wanted to choose who you fell in love with. I wanted to be the one you chose.”

Atsumu has a split second to think before Hinata kisses him and makes him forget everything but his own name. In that split second, he concedes that maybe fate was a better judge than he gave it credit for, but he also knows that falling for this man after their destined meeting made this moment so much more satisfying.

Then Hinata is kissing him again, Atsumu’s hands fall down to his waist, and one of them dares to use tongue.

He’s going to have to give Yachi a raise after she walks in from the workshop and catches them enthusiastically pressed up against the counter.

Totally worth it.


End file.
